


Beneath a Broken Sign of Sparking Neon

by bakedpotatocat



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, M/M, Prohibition, mob activity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 04:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18653044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakedpotatocat/pseuds/bakedpotatocat
Summary: Dave gets asked to investigate a speakeasy, and finds a lot more than he bargained for.





	Beneath a Broken Sign of Sparking Neon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CynziDragonPazza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynziDragonPazza/gifts).



> Inspired by Cynzi. 
> 
> Check out the Homestuck Content Creation Station, given me a lot of inspiration.
> 
> https://discord.gg/ZUdYbzf

Dave looked anxiously at the place John had asked him to visit. The barred iron door didn’t do any favors for his nerves. It was fine, Dave, you’d been in plenty of speakeasies before, and just cause your best friend that definitely did not have mob connections, no siree, had sent you to this one didn’t mean it was any more dangerous than the others. It was fine, he told himself, it’d probably be filled to the brim with Charlie Chaplin-lookin motherfuckers anyway. No worries. He rapped on the door and a slit opened, a gruff voice asking him “password?”

“Sassafras”, Dave answered. The man opened the door, glancing suspiciously around the alleyway before ushering him in.

“You packin?”

“Do I look like I am?”

“Good answer, tough guy. Though I’d say no.”

“You gonna find out?”

“Nah. Come on in, bar’s to the right.”

The short hallway opened into a poorly lit, smoke-filled room, neon signs above a small stage blazing.  A small jazz band warmed up amidst a cluttered room of unfamiliar people. Dave walked over to the bar, ordered a whiskey on the rocks, and pulled out the picture of the man John had asked him to look for. One Lucky Lord English, he was called, apparently. John hadn’t clarified their relation.

Dave picked up his drink and went to sit near the stage to get the best look around the club. This was definitely a mob front, there were no ifs or buts about it. This was the most mob front place there had been aside from the place down on Third that might as well have been called Al Capone’s Sandwich Shop. Obviously someone had found their talents well at hand there, they made damn good subs. Maybe it was the cop killing that made you good at sandwiches.

He quit his musing about the relation between murder and food preparation to listen to the jazz singer that had walked on stage. It was a guy for once, that was a nice change of pace. Wasn’t bad looking either, a little scruffy and underslept, but who could blame the guy. Lot of late nights himself lately. Didn’t help when John had him running all around town to help him find notorious mobsters for “oh don’t worry about it Dave! He’s just a friend!” John was a big guy, he could take care of himself, but he was obvious when he was looking for people. Dave appreciated the excuse (and a little bit of extra cash) for getting to hang out in jazz clubs all night.

The music started, and that beautiful stop Dave he’s just mildly attractive and besides you didn’t even like guys jazz singer started to sway with the beat, snapping along. And then he opened his mouth and god damn what a voice. It seemed to seep through the chairs and the floor and the walls and just smoothly saunter its way back in, a smooth, criminally haunting baritone reverberating through the cramped space like nothing he had ever heard. It harmonized with the bass strings and playfought with the sax for control of the melody, but there was no doubt that he was in control. Confident and deep and above all else, an undeniable masculinity that wasn’t afraid to be itself. Dave hoped they played forever.

The song ended, and as the singer caught his breath Dave noticed a developing situation near the back of the club. Two of the most obvious mobsters he had ever seen were obviously getting more upset with each other. Oh well, the bouncer would probably ask them to take it outside, where they could hash it out like adults, or more likely, each get a few extra bucks from the tooth fairy. Wasn’t the first drunken bout he would have seen. Might as well keep an eye on them until they got escorted out. No harm in playing safe, and it might be funny. Dave allowed himself to get lost in the music for a couple more minutes, appreciating the lovely vocals and their stellar accompaniment.

Before he even knew it, the men had escalated the situation, and oh fuck that’s right this was a mob club these people kept pistols on them always. He saw them both draw and jesus that dude was standing right in front of that singer and the other dude was pointing a gun at him and all of a sudden Dave was on the stage pinning that beautiful man beneath him and shots were flying and people were screaming.

It got settled quickly. Thankfully, no one was seriously injured, and the one shot that might have hit somebody innocent had instead gone flying into the neon sign above the stage, which now sparked above the two of them, the informant and the man he tackled breathing heavily for what they imagined was the adrenaline.

“Uh, hi. Sorry. I’m Dave.” Dave stood up and pulled himself to his feet, then offered a hand up to the gorgeous man with the prettier voice.

“Thanks, I guess. Karkat.”

The pair stood beneath a sparking red neon sign that felt a lot like love.


End file.
